Living in The Village of Tall Trees as a low-life was the best of times. We had our various gambits for keeping the black drug dealers and thugs—and the cops—from hassling us, or worse. For instance, we worked for a fund raising organization, manning the phones. One of the organizations we subcontracted to was the Fraternal Order of Police. On the front door of our apartment we had FOP stickers literally wallpapering the door. It’s not a get out of jail free card, but the cops think twice about giving you a hard time.

Why wouldn’t a fund raising organization employ low-life’s such as myself to raise money—it’s what low–life’s do; wheel and deal? One time this cop knocks on the door and says, “Do I have the right address?”

I said, “No, officer, you want these crazy people next door who are going at it again. Have a nice day.”

There was also the notion of hospitality that could reach out of the darkness of the criminal world and save you sometimes. Of course, we were the only whites in the community; Scott and me. We did have these two friends who we knew from the city, and around, who looked identical. One lived in the city, the other in the county, going about their criminal lifestyle. We called them the City-County Twins. Hey, City, how are you? Good morning, County, have a nice day.

One day we—Scott and I—are walking through the community and these three guys approach us. That would be City, County, and one of the local thugs who had done the home invasion on Sandman and I before, and who had gotten their comeuppance, and held a certain animosity towards our presence. City looks at me and says, “Columbine, how you doin’? Scottie, beam me up bro!”

We’re kind of wondering what City and County are doing hanging out with this thug, and he’s looking kind of nervous when City turns to him and says, “These two, are these the guys?”

The guy shakes his head, “yes,” indicating that we were indeed the object of his disaffection. Then City pulls out a wad of money and slaps it in his hand and says, “Sorry, can’t do it. Take your money back. These are my people.”

The thug then makes tracks and City and County are like, “You two might want to watch your six o’clock around these parts—people are getting edgy."

As ever, the right friends in the wrong places can make all the difference.